


Monday Mornings

by BitterTongue



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 01:55:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16965510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitterTongue/pseuds/BitterTongue
Summary: All you wanted to do was help the people of New York get through what had happened to them. But how were you supposed to help the man who just sat on your couch?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Porting over from my tumblr Cordytriestowrite

It was early when you entered your office on Monday. You had awoken and arrived before the sun had risen over the tall buildings of Manhattan. This wasn’t your usual routine on any day; ever. You had a new client, a client who wants to see a therapist at 6 am. Obviously they need counseling if they are up this early on a Monday! You groan as you settle into your chair and open your laptop. You didn’t have time to review the online questionnaire your new client filled out last night and thus had to get up even earlier to read it before they got here. You yawned as you clicked opened the report.  
Name: James Buchanan Barnes  
And that was it. All other questions were blank. You close and reopen the file in hope of a computer error, but it did not change the empty form.  
-  
He arrived promptly at 6, though you initially didn’t notice. He was quiet and you were tired, but there he was, standing in the doorway of your office. Tall was the first word that sprang to mind, then muscles, then fine, then tree, then climb. It was only when your gaze met his that you remembered the context of your meeting. He was a patient in need of emotional healing and you were the healer. With a clearer, less inappropriate mindset you stood from your chair and crossed the room toward him.  
“Good morning. My name is Dr. (Y/L/N). You must be James” You held forth your hand to shake.  
He looked at your hand, you know he saw it there between you, but he did not take it. You were used to patients who did not shake hands, some people don’t like to be touched, so when he continued to stare you dropped your hand and moved aside, gesturing for him to come in.  
“So James,” you begin as he relaxes in the most stiff way you’ve ever seen someone relax onto the plush loveseat across from your padded chair, “what made you decide to come see me today?”  
You get no response.  
“Did you have any issues with the online questionnaire?”  
Silence.  
You glance at the clock above his head. 5 minutes. Some patients take a while to warm up. You decide to allow him time to get comfortable. You take down basic notes on your notepad, avoiding adjectives you wish you could use to do justice to the physique before you. Damn you needed to get out more. You wrote a note to yourself: reduce availability to after 9am. Go out on a date for once.  
15 minutes of silence. You had glanced from your notes a few times between the minutes only to see James unchanged. You took note of his eyes, dark and troubled, and tired, but a different tired than what you felt at 6 am.  
You attempted conversations every five minutes or so, hoping he would latch to one but had no luck. He was silent and tense the whole hour. His hands never left the pocket of his black hoodie and his jaw never unclenched. Once you caught his leg jiggle absently, his basketball shorts riding above his knee at the movement, but just as soon as it caught your attention he had ceased the action.  
He stood promptly as the minute hand clicked to mark 7 am. You stood as well, quickly and slightly off balance. It was terse as you both stood and you found yourself unable to look away from his gaze as you had done so easily in the last hour.  
“Thank you for coming James.” You managed to say. You didn’t put out your hand to shake this time. Despite the lack of action he still glanced down in expectation and raised his brows minutely seeing your hands at your sides.  
“Bucky.” He grunted. He turned and exited the open door just as swiftly and silently as he entered before. His voice was low and full and sent a thrill of goosebumps down your arms.  
“That’s progress.” You said out loud in an airy tone of disbelief.  
Maybe you’ll keep your Monday mornings open, just in case he felt progress too.


	2. Chapter 2

You were watching tv when you got the email. Another session scheduled for 6 am Monday. You wish you could say you didn’t stay up late on a Sunday hoping he would come see you again. You also wish you could say you didn’t spend all week hoping every email you received was from him, but here you were on Sunday night smiling like a fool over a calendar alert. The corner of your phone alerted you of the late hour and despite the elation you felt at seeing James -no, Bucky again tomorrow you knew you would be as miserable tomorrow as you were last Monday. You couldn’t fall asleep in another session like you did Mrs. Jackson’s.  
-  
You arrived 10 minutes before 6, this time with coffee in your grasp. You sipped impatiently as you sat in your chair. You were thinking a more casual greeting might work out in your favor but the tension in your eyebrows was bound to give you away.  
You were watching the doorway when the clock struck 6 and simultaneously he appeared in your doorway. You nodded and gestured to the couch before you.  
“Good morning Ja-Bucky. Please have a seat.” You said carefully. Your hand was shaking ever so slightly. It was making your chest feel like a tin can rattling your heart and lungs. Must be the coffee.  
He sat down, yet again clothed in a hoodie and shorts. His jaw was tense and you could see the strain reached his shoulders, despite all of his upper body shielded behind cotton.  
It was his eyes that unsettled you and truly caused the rattle you felt in your bones. He looked troubled, almost…guilty? You hastily wrote a note on his demeanor. It was unnecessary, but the only way you ever felt you had a hold on things was to write them down.  
“How are you doing today Bucky?” You asked. It was a routine question. Something commonly asked by therapists, but you found yourself asking not out of duty to your position and more so out of genuine concern.  
“Not good.” He muttered. He wasn’t making eye contact you noted.  
“Would you like to tell me why you do not feel good?” This was easy, this was counseling. You still felt hollow in your chest and your hands still shook slightly, but you could overcome this feeling by doing the fundamentals of your job.  
He shook his head. His hair was loose in his face but didn’t obscure it. He could use it as a shield to hide from your gaze and personal questions but he didn't. You took this unconscious body language as an opening.  
“I am not here to judge, Bucky. I am here to listen and to provide feedback and support. Nothing you say will leave this room or be spoken about to anyone but you and I.”  
The room was stifling in a way that had nothing to do with ventilation. You could feel the waves of emotion coming off the man before you and you knew if you weren’t smart about this you would drown in those violent waves. You held fast in your survey of his face but when his eyes finally locked to yours you felt yourself sink into the depths of his pain.  
“You would not judge a murderer? Because that’s what I am. No matter what Steve says…” the visual contact broke when he put his head down slightly. You felt yourself come up for air with a gasping breath and took a real breath when you finally realized you had forgone them for too long.  
“You did not come here to be judged,” you finally found yourself saying, “you may think that is all you will ever receive from people is judgment. But I think you came here because you know that can change. And you want it to change.”  
You had not felt this way in a long time, not since your first client after graduate school. The feeling that you were in over your head. This man would be high risk, oh yes, but the reward would be so much greater if you could succeed. This is why you became a therapist!  
Your personal unearthing came to a halt when Bucky cleared his throat and rose from the couch. You checked the clock above him, something you hadn’t done since he walked in, and were surprised to find it was precisely 7 am. Before you could join Bucky in standing he was out the door.  
“Damn” you muttered. But with the troubled man gone from your office you could feel your chest settle back into place and your arms gain a steadiness they had been missing for the last hour. You threw away your now cold coffee and kicked off your shoes before throwing yourself gracelessly onto the couch Bucky just occupied. It would be another 2 hours before your next session and you were exhausted. And if you inhaled deeply into the pillow once cradled against the man’s side who had to know?  
He may be troubled but he smelled nice…and you really needed to get out more.


	3. Chapter 3

“They think I’m out for a run.” Bucky offered up as he fingered the playing cards in his hand. You had placed the deck on the coffee table between you before he arrived and he took the bait. Most clients prefered the mental barrier of a game to direct their focus away from things that make them uncomfortable in conversation like eye contact.  
You found your eyes wandering back to the hand holding the cards, a shiny silver prosthetic with realistic movement that fascinated you. You had heard of advancements in the mechanical and medical industry, especially since Tony Stark moved away from weapons manufacturing. You wandered if Bucky had one of Stark’s prototypes or if he was rich enough to afford a similar creation from a less known name. You shifted your focus back to your own cards, not wanting to make him uncomfortable with your curiosity.  
“Who are they?” You asked, picking up a face down card from the pile. Another queen, only one more and you could place them down and be one step closer to winning your game of rummy. You discarded your lone 2 easily.  
“My friends.” Bucky replied absently, taking a card from the deck and considering his hand.  
“Do you not want them to know you’re coming here?” Bucky’s hand paused in the middle of its discard. He sighed heavily, letting the card fall sloppily in line with the others.  
“No. I’m not ashamed. I just…” he paused, jaw working as he struggled to find the words he wanted. You waited patiently, eyeing the queen Bucky had just put down. You didn't want to take away from the moment he was having, though the game was bringing out your competitive streak.  
“I think I just want something to have for myself for once.” He finally concluded.  
You nodded, biting your lip to contain your smile as you reached for the queen Bucky had dropped, adding it to your hand then placing all four queens down face up for Bucky to see. A groan rumbled through his chest as he slumped back onto the couch in defeat. You didn’t bother to suppress your smug grin any longer.  
“Damn doll,” he chuckled, “see why I gotta to keep you all to myself?”  
You blushed as you discarded a seven, taking a risk separating it from its pair in your hand. Maybe it was your victory with the set of queens that made you so bold, maybe it was Bucky’s flirtatious comment. You swallowed, suddenly feeling there was more riding on this game than you initially thought. Bucky shifted forward onto the edge of the couch, his leg bouncing up and down as he reviewed his hand.  
The cards dwindled down as the minutes passed. Bucky had just collected a handful from the discard pile, all the way back to your discarded seven, when his phone buzzed loudly from his hoodie pocket.  
You both stared down at his stomach where the sound continued. Bucky swallowed heavily looking down with worry in his brows. He looked indecisive about answering and you wondered why. He glanced up, unsure and a little scared. You nodded and gave him a large reassuring smile, gesturing to his still buzzing phone. He reached into the pocket and pulled out his phone, rising from the couch as he answered with a short “Hello.”  
You put your cards face down on the table and picked up your notebook, scribbling furiously key points of Bucky’s attitude throughout your session. He was playful when relaxed and had a happier disposition than you expected. He also maintained an ambitious energy throughout the game, no matter if he was winning or losing. You wrote down determined and underlined it, taking a moment to admire the trait; you hated sore losers. You were just about to document the phone call observations when Bucky cleared his throat from the doorway.  
You let your notepad slip between your thigh and the arm of the chair. Bucky’s hands were stuffed in his hoodie pocket dragging the fabric down low over his shorts. He looked upset, glancing between you, the cards, and the clock on the wall. You followed his eyes to the clock, there was still ten minutes left in the hour.  
“Rain check?” He asked with a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. You nodded and stood, smoothing the wrinkles in your skirt and subtly wiping the sweat from your hands. You took and step forward and he didn’t back away.  
“Next Monday? Same time right?” You joked, hoping to lighten his mood. His smile lifted a little bit higher and his eyes twinkled in reluctant amusement as he let out a small chuckle.  
“Can’t pass up a rematch.”  
He left quickly, the seriousness in his face returning immediately after your goodbyes. You watched him leave before carefully picking up the cards littering the table.  
You couldn't help it, you turned over Bucky’s cards and examined his hand. Pairs of three and four outnumbered the solo card numbers. He was about to win the bastard.  
There would definitely be a rematch.


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky arrived promptly at six to your office the week following his abrupt departure. You half expected this to be the start of what you typically and ominously referred to as The Departure. You had seen it before, a client would leave early or arrive late for a few more sessions before never returning, avoiding phone calls and emails checking in on their wellbeing that would have to morph into unpaid bill notices and threats of collection agencies. You hated reaching that point, usually reminding yourself not to take it personally, it was just business after all, but rarely could you separate yourself from the situation and think of your services as simply transactional. When Bucky had left it took until he stepped through your door the following week to let go of the knot of anxiousness you had been holding in your chest. A knot that tangled and twisted around itself at the idea of losing him.  
But here he was, bright eyed and slightly bashful as he held out a paper coffee cup that you had yet to take from him. Not only had he come back, he had arrived on time and with a coffee obviously meant to be a request of repentance. You took it from him gingerly after a beat, smiling graciously.  
“Thank you, this is very sweet, but you didn't have to-”  
He let out a small chuckle before shaking his head, “I wanted to.”  
You nodded, the gesture one of thankful acceptance. You brought the lid to your lips and let the hot mixture of coffee and milk settle on your tongue. Unthinkingly you pulled a face at the flavor, something was off.  
“Uh sorry if it tastes weird. I tried to describe the markings I saw on the side of your cup to the barista. Must’ve got it wrong.” He shrugged sheepishly, head hung low as he rubbed the back of his neck with his exposed metallic hand.  
Your eyes coasted along the unclothed limb, taking a mental note of his decision to leave the metal uncovered. He was apologetic, thoughtful of your time, and getting more comfortable in your presence. Your stomach soured as you took another sip of the coffee, though the curdling in your middle had nothing to do with taste and everything to do with the bitterness you felt at your selfish wish that Bucky wasn’t your patient. The actions blurred the professional line you had drawn upon his first session, the line that held you desire to know him on a more romantic level at bay while your duty as a psychologist continued it’s more important job.  
You cleared your throat and gestured to the couch which Bucky sat upon eagerly, as if he were waiting for your permission, as if the coffee wasn’t enough for him to know he was in your good graces. You set the drink down on the table between you, noticing the mark on the cup that made this concoction different than your usual. Soy milk.  
“Well I am glad you are here because we have a score to settle.” You teased, rising from your seat and making your way to the shelf beside your still open door, you closed it softly and the room was wrapped in a blanket of privacy. You bent slightly to grab the deck of cards, now shuffled and stacked in a pile on the second to last shelf. It was time for a rematch.  
“Can’t let my best girl think she’s won by default now can I?” Bucky said from behind you, his tone cocksure. You smirked and turned back to look at him, finding him relaxed against the back of the couch, his arms stretched wide taking up the entirety of the seat and allowing you a greedy look at his strong arms and muscular chest, your eyes flicked up from their lingering glance and your eyes would have met Bucky’s if his gaze was not squared intently on your backside.  
You bit your lip and straighted, trying with all your might to ignore the image in your mind; eyes of bright blue drinking you in like a tall glass of lemonade. You reasoned with yourself, forcing your logical mind to accept what you planned to say next which could continue you on this flirtatious track.  
“Best girl huh?” Your voice was casual, lilted with the smallest tease that matched the pointed raise of your eyebrow. You doled out card between you, setting up the game while Bucky’s laid back stance shifted yet again to one of uncertainty, a timid stumble of sputtered words that did not end in a complete sentence until a couple of tries in.  
“I don’t know a lot of dames so yeah, out of the ones I know I guess you’re my favorite. You’re the only one-” he cut off suddenly, picking up his cards and studying them too keenly to be believed. You moved about the cards in your hand, matching up pairs and suits while you waited patiently for what would hopefully be a big stroke to your ego. He sighed petulantly after the silence stretched long enough to tell him you would not give in and change the subject.  
“You’re the only one I find myself wanting to be around.”  
Your heart practically jumped from your chest, up your neck, and out of your mouth to hurl itself at Bucky and promise to be his forever. Luckily your heart was incapable of embarrassing you in such a way.  
“Is there a reason you don’t know a lot of women?” You asked as you displayed the triplet of cards bearing the number eight in black, black, and red. You asked partially out of curiosity, but mostly out of habit, knowing these inquiries would bring you closer to helping him with whatever brought him to you in the first place.  
“The ones I know I…” he started, then closed his lips and gave himself a moment to roll a few words around in his mouth before choosing the one that tasted best, “work with. I don’t get out much.”  
“What do you do in your spare time?”  
He considered the question as he placed down a pair of jacks and discarded a two. It was fascinating to watch him choose his words so carefully, like he knew each one had to have significance. Thoughtful. The word echoed in your head.  
“I mostly work out, I don't just lie about my running habits to my friends to spend time with you.” He joked and you cracked a smile. You drew a card from the deck and immediately threw it down as a discard.  
“I like to read.” He offered as he took his turn, “I also like to go to the farmers market on Saturdays.”  
“The farmers market is a great place to meet people.” You said.  
“I’ve met a few people,” he sighed putting down a full set of fours, making you pout at his sudden lead. “But it doesnt ever go anywhere.”  
You mulled over the halfhearted excuse, letting it swim in your head. Bucky was gorgeous, there was not denying it and no doubt that’s what drew women to him as he perused the Saturday market. What happened after that? What caused the fizzle and eventual death of a relationship that never even started? These were questions you could ask him, but you figured such a direct cause for self reflection would be too much for the man who deemed his therapist to be his best female friend.  
Bucky ended up winning the game, his moves so strategically made that you hadn’t realized your fate was sealed until you had caught his victorious grin three turns before the end. Your banter had shifted away from Bucky’s dating life and practically left the realm of counseling all together in favor of smack talk and flirtatious digs. As you collected the cards Bucky looked up at the clock above his head.  
“I got a few minutes left.” He commented.  
You hummed in acknowledgment, not looking up from the deck you were shuffling, the cards bent in your hands as you prepared to let them flicker from the halves you held into a complete set on the table.  
“So, do you have a boyfriend?”  
The cards you had been holding with just the right amount of pressure suddenly shot from your grip as your fingers reflexively moved in surprise. You felt your mortification double at the mess of cards strewn about the coffee table, some falling to the floor on either side as their momentum carried them over the edge. Bucky laughed lightly and you both bent down on your respective sides to collect the fallen cards.  
“Sorry doll, didn’t mean to get you all flustered.” He said as he resurfaced and placed the rogue cards on the table. He didn't sound apologetic.  
“No, no, I just lost my grip.” You said lamely, faking more cards to be picked up on your side so you wouldn't have to look at him. You knew he didn't believe your fib.  
“Well would you look at that your time is up. See you next week.” You said hurriedly, timing your completion of card settling with the start of the new hour. You rose and returned the deck to its spot on the shelf, opening your door for him immediately after.  
“Are you gonna make me wait until next week to find out if you gotta guy?” Bucky whined, getting up from the couch and joining you near the doorway. His plush lips were held in a small pout, eyes large and innocent if you ignored the playful shine ribbing you had given them.  
“No I don’t have a boyfriend.” You conceded.  
“Why not?”  
“Don't get out much.” You said, mirroring Bucky’s own words back at him. He smiled, his face alight with a satisfaction you couldn’t pinpoint a sensible reason for. With a nod he walked through the doorway and around the corner, whistling a mocking tune that echoed in your ears long after he left.


	5. Chapter 5

You awoke Saturday morning in a good mood. The sky was a clear blue and coupled with a breeze so light and pleasant it seemed a pity to stay inside and miss its gentle caress. You felt an energetic buzz once you opened your eyes telling you to go out and do something. You ventured out of your home and onto the streets, taking a wandering approach to your plans for the day.   
New York City was an amazing place. It was a living breathing being that thrived despite all that befell it and it's people. You had been a resident for almost half of your life now and from the moment you stepped foot on the busy streets you knew your path would always be to walk these sidewalks. Your random journey was detoured abruptly by a set of barriers spanning both the sidewalks and the street in between.   
From what you could tell from within the sea of onlookers held off by the barricades, police cruises, and officers, there had been a scuffle on the other side. You looked up, looking for a tell tale marker. Sure enough there along the ledge of a fire escape was a remaining bit of a web like substance. You sighed in relief and felt your curiosity satisfied. You turned away from the scene and continued your aimless stroll. Spider-Man run-ins were the least destructive.  
The city hasn't ever been truly safe. You were told when you first moved to beware of muggers, to hide your purse, and never walk alone at night, but in the last few years NYC has had more to be concerned with than a few deviants. With every terrorist threat, every alien invasion, every store robbery and mugging there was some hero to save the day. You loved those brave heroes for everything they had done, continued to do, to protect your home but there was only so much they could do. That's where you decided to come in.  
Consider it a moral obligation or an advantageous use of your skills but nothing had made more sense to you in the moments of chaos and destruction than being there after it was all over to pick up the pieces. Some people could never go back to living without the turmoil they experienced. Some people couldn't sleep at night, couldn't take the subway, couldn't hear a loud noise without fearing the building they were in would collapse upon them. But you were there, to listen and to assure and to bring about some sort of normalcy. You would do anything for this city and its people.   
Only a few blocks away from the aftermath of a Spider-Man’s heroics you could feel the air shift. All of a sudden the crowds milling about were blissfully ignorant to the danger that could have befallen them if they were only a few streets over. You shook your head, marveling at the ability for New York to feel enormous at the same time it seemed so small.   
“Hi.”   
You turned to your right, startled by the voice. Bucky stood next to you, hands shoved into hoodie pockets and earbuds dangling from the rim of his shirt. It felt surreal to see him, almost as if he didn't exist outside of the hours of 6 and 7am on Monday mornings.   
“Hey!” You couldn't help but sound startled. You were out of your element. You couldn't determine your approach to Bucky easily here. In your office on Monday mornings you could easily settle into counseling mode, even with the light flirting that had infiltrated your sessions with him. It wasn't even that you were uncomfortable seeing patients outside of business hours, it had happened before, but this was Bucky, a man you have struggled to define the professional line with since you first laid eyes on him weeks ago.   
“I was a little ways behind you. I didn't want you to turn around and think I was following you or think I was rude for not saying hello…” Bucky trailed off, the top of his high cheekbones turning pink. He bit his lower lip and you understood that you and Bucky were on a level playing field, both unsure of how to handle the interaction but maybe feeling an obligation to endure it.  
You smiled and nodded. Bucky's face relaxed. You both stopped on the corner of the sidewalk and waited with a small cluster of commuters for traffic to clear. You seemed to be heading in the same direction and even though you could easily change course you didn't want to.  
“Where are you heading?” You asked to fill the silence as you waited. It was something you felt confident doing. It was just like your sessions, getting him warmed up to offering information himself.   
“The farmer's market. I told you I like to go sometimes on Saturdays.”  
“Yes I remember.” You kept your head down as the crowd moved across the street to the safety of the other side. You remembered the conversation surrounding that piece of knowledge very vividly as well.  
“Where are you going?”  
You sighed and looked up into the infinite, cornflower blue sky.   
“Wherever today takes me.” You couldn't help but smile playfully at your companion. The smirk you got in return made your heart skip a beat and your footing stuttered on the lip of pavement after the crosswalk.  
“Could it take you to the farmer's market?” Bucky asked hopefully. His eyebrows lifted and his eyes soft and round like a begging puppy dog. You said yes before you could consider the repercussions of the answer. That line you had drawn, the line you had to keep reminding yourself not to cross, was just left behind with a single large step. The worst part was that you didn't want to turn back and return to the safety of the other side.   
Within ten minutes you and Bucky were in the thick of market stalls and shoppers. You probably would have stumbled across the market on your own, maybe even gone in and explored. You mused upon the idea of walking through the stalls and coming across Bucky, of being the one to come up to him and start an exchange. You wondered if it was inevitable that you reach this point and then you felt a heavy bit of guilt drop from your heart and splash into your stomach for thinking you didn't have a choice in your feelings toward Bucky.   
“Where do you usually start?” You asked pulling yourself out of your own head. There were rows upon rows of vendors selling everything from fresh bread to dog collars and looking in any direction made your head spin with possibilities.  
“Depends on what I plan on making.”  
“So you cook too?”  
Bucky shrugged and looked away. You suddenly wished you had your deck of cards with you, something he could focus on when he felt awkward. The best you could do was turn to the closest stall and pick up a small rose quartz that dangled from a key ring.  
“Look at this.”  
Bucky regarded it carefully, removing his hand from his pocket and holding it open, palm up. You dropped it in his hand and watched him roll it between his fingers.   
“Pretty.” He says, passing the stone back to you, his fingers brushing yours in the pass. You turned to place it back onto the table you had plucked it from to see the owner of the booth smiling warmly at the two of you.  
“Rose quartz: the love magnet. It represents unconditional love and compassion. A perfect gift for an anniversary perhaps?”  
You dropped the stone from a higher height than you intended. It bounced and teetered on the edge of the table as you took a step back and straight into Bucky. He grabbed your upper arms to steady you as you stepped on his toes.   
“Oh we aren't-”  
“No, thank you.” Bucky cut in while turning you away from the both. “Have a good day.”  
He walked you a few paces before dropping his hands from your arms. It was the most he had ever touched you. You felt his hands still on you even after he pulled away. The skin felt hot and sensitive where they sat so briefly.   
“I try to stay away from the stalls that sell anything but food.”  
“Good plan.” You mumble as you allow Bucky to get ahead of you. He guided you past a few rows of random goods until he found an aisle entirely composed of fruits and vegetables.  
“I'm thinking about making a pie.” Bucky mused, a small smile on his face. And just like that the strain between you relaxed into what you wanted all along. It was like the card game in your office, easy going and open for Bucky to initiate any topic he wanted.   
He stayed silent for a while and you followed him as he moved from table to table. You watched him pick up select fruits with his prosthetic hand and give them a squeeze before pulling a frown and putting them back. He passed by the apples unsatisfied and moved on to the peaches next. He considered the large pile before picking on up and holding it in his fist, gently squeezing. He didn't put the fruit back but placed it off to the side before diving back into the pile.  
“Found a good one?” You asked, bemused by his level of concentration. He turned to regard you as if forgetting you were there.   
“I'm hoping to find enough to make a cobbler. Peach cobbler is Steve's favorite.”   
You stepped closer until standing next to him. Your eyes roamed the pile.  
“Can I help?”  
Bucky nodded and went back to his task. You grabbed a peach from the top of the pile and squeezed the fruit, your fingertips pressing into its soft flesh. You couldn't tell if it was good or not. You couldn't even remember the last time you ate a peach, let alone had to pick out a good one. You offered the fruit to Bucky.  
“Is this a good one? I can't tell.”   
He took it and squeezed and you watched him frown before shaking his head and putting it back into the pile.   
“Too soft. It won't be good for more than a day.”  
“How can you tell?” you asked picking up another peach in each hand and squeezing, “These all feel the same to me.”  
“You just have to know how to hold it.” He said, coming around until he was behind you. He reached out and pulled the fruits from your hands and grabbed a new one from the table, placing it into your open palm.  
“So when you close your hand,” he started, bringing his metal hand to rest under yours. “You make sure your fingers hold it with equal pressure.”  
You watched transfixed as his fingers gently curl yours in to rest upon the plump fruit. One by one he pressed, starting with his pinky until the peach could be felt from palm to fingertip equally in every digit.  
“What do you think about this one? Good?” He murmured in your ear lowly, his nose so close to your face it glanced a lock of hair near your cheek.   
“It feels firm. Maybe too firm?” You turned towards him, looking for an answer to your uncertainty only to come eye to eye and nose to nose. You could feel him exhale slow and controlled through his nose as his fingers pressed further into yours.   
“Too firm.” He repeated in confirmation. You both looked down to your cupped hands. The skin of the fruit had dented in where you had pressed but didn't break. Bucky released his grip and you dropped the peach back onto the table.   
“I think I got it.” You said, digging deeper into the stack as if the perfect peach would be hidden underneath. Bucky stepped back and came to stand next to you again, closer than before. Your arms brushed as you each reached for a peach and put one back. Bucky tested all the ones you said were good and agreed.   
“I should have enough to make a couple cobblers for the team.” Bucky told you as you handed him another peach. He grabbed a couple paper bags from by a sign and passed them to you.  
“Bag these up for me would ya doll? I gotta find who to pay for these.”   
This wasn't the first time Bucky had called you doll. He had said it several times in fact when he deemed you were being cheeky during a card game or he wanted to rob you in good fun, but hearing him say it now outside your office reminded you of where you were and who you were with.  
You were spending a Saturday morning with a patient picking out peaches. You were entertaining the idea of spending the rest of the day with him, of making a cobbler back at his place. You were mulling over the idea of doing this every weekend. You were considering letting him kiss you and kissing back and letting it go further than just one kiss.   
You hastily shoved the peaches into the bags Bucky left. You could see him, a few tables over with his back turned to you, pulling a wallet out of his back pocket. You knew you had gone too far, you had done a disservice to yourself, your career, and most importantly to Bucky. You had to turn back, to race back to the line and pass back over into professionalism and the only way to do that was to leave.   
You placed the bags on the corner of the table where Bucky could easily find them and walked away quickly, keeping your head down as you ducked into a patch of strangers going around the corner. You would deal with the consequences on Monday. You would have to deal with a lot of things on Monday morning.


End file.
